


Petulance and Pauses

by Khismer



Series: It's not easy being queen [2]
Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Balem survives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khismer/pseuds/Khismer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Few understand the trials of serving an Entitled as they do. There's little comfort in meeting, but it is familiar still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petulance and Pauses

“Move over.”

She says it just to be petty, just to see if he’ll do as she says; there is vast space on either side, so the demand certainly doesn’t come from a need for _more_ room.

He moves anyway, and she drops down beside him, legs dangling over the edge. If either of them were to fall, the distance would most certainly kill them – a fact that does not escape him when she delicately places a hand against his back.

She pulls back a fraction of a second later, lips twisted further down. Palm out, she offers her hand for examination, and he can see that it is faintly smudged with something dark.

“Ash,” she says, and flicks her fingers over her palm to dispel any traces of it.  “Any news from your Mr. Greeghan?”

Chicanery shakes his head. His… companion had left only moments before she arrived, and so she most likely passed him on the way.

Greeghan’s visit – and the fact that the conversation, however brief circumstances may have made it, carried no further bad news – has left him in a considerably more settled mood, but with no particular desire to talk.

He’s willing to bet she isn’t here for pleasantries, anyway.

“Stable, then,” she says. She takes from the motion what she is meant to; if there is news, it is not the sort she cares to hear. _Interpersonal gossip_ must take the backseat, these days.

“And the trial?” Not going very well at all, he hears. Oh, there is the expected front of nonchalance from Titus, but it is surprising that it has gotten as far as it has; surprising and _alarming_.

The grimace only confirms this. Famulus’ features do not look nearly so delicate when her mouth slants so harshly down, and though it is a rare expression of honest emotion – anything beyond traces of derision are generally swept up in that faint, ever-present and often-mocking smile of hers – it is far from usual.

But then, _all_ of their ‘usuals’ have been thrown out the window recently.

“Infuriating,” she says. She stares out across the void – _must_ all vessels be built to the scale of dangerous opulence? – and then twists her foot, enough that her shoe slips off.

It tumbles down, down, down, and then hits bottom with a metallic crash followed by high-pitched, irate squeaking. An android worker must have been its target.

“It was time for a change, anyway,” she says, and offers him the other.

He considers it, then accepts, and lets it slip from his fingers to a cacophony much like the first. There must be some measure of petulance, or childishness, in the both of them, grown from their situations. Who could avoid that, around an Abrasax?

“I _was_ glad to hear of your employer’s survival. How… fortunate it was.” She gives him a sideways glance as she says it, and there may be some measure of truth to that statement, despite her nature.

Close quarters does breed some measure of familiarity, if not true fondness. How many truly understand their position? Mere handfuls?

No matter their circumstances, a splice under contract is almost always better off _remaining_ under contract. It is… difficult to persuade another to take up a broken agreement.

She has already had one exception, he believes. He’s only heard shards of that story, and even if true, he doubts she’ll manage the same trick twice. He doubts _he’ll_ manage that trick.

Another moment of contemplation, and then he says, carefully, “I believe Miss Jones may not be so pleased as you to hear the news.”

A glance shows that familiar smirk, already growing. “No,” she agrees. “She will be _livid_.”

Nothing said they couldn’t throw a wrench in _her_ plans, too.


End file.
